


On The House

by bisexualcyborg



Category: Penny Dreadful (TV)
Genre: Barista!Ethan, Brona has CF, Coffeeshop AU, F/M, Sex Worker!Brona, Trans!Brona, transphobic slurs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:44:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bisexualcyborg/pseuds/bisexualcyborg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ethan is a barista at Vanessa's coffeeshop. He meets an interesting costumer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The House

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fluorineandsilver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluorineandsilver/gifts).



> Originally posted on Tumblr as a fill for my Christmas promptfest.

than almost drops the cinnamon shaker when the girl starts screaming.

“This is a no-smoking zone you foocking twat, can’t you foocking read?”

She’s looming threateningly over a bearded man in a fedora, both hands planted firmly on the table in front of him. The man is indeed holding a lit cigarette. Ethan notices the girl keep her face carefully angled away from the smoke.

He taps Vanessa’s shoulder. “Can you manage for a minute? I’m going take care of that.” He nods in the direction of the furious girl.

She’s still yelling at the man. “You don’t even need to be able to read, you dickhead, there’s even a nice little sign for brainless foockers like you!”

The man brings the cigarette to his lips, inhales, and brings his face very close to the girl’s. “Shut up” he says, enunciating very clearly, and blows a cloud of smoke in the girl’s face. 

She starts coughing immediately, guttural, body-wracking coughs. She doubles over, barely holding herself up. Her blonde hair falls in front of her face. 

Ethan is almost at the table. He mentally curses the fact that the coffeeshop is so crowded at this hour; everyone needs to move out of the way to let him through.

He notices the bearded man’s gaze moving, very deliberately, to the girl’s cleavage.

“You’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart. Those are fake,” he says mockingly, and Ethan has to fight the urge to grab a chair and smash it over his head. Disrespectful misogynistic prick.

“Yeah, they are!” the girl manages in between coughing fits. “And so is my cunt! Want a peek, you foocking pervert?” The last word is made barely intelligible by a new coughing fit.

Ethan has finally reached the table. He grabs the man’s arm. “Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

The man looks up at him. “I have as much right to be here as anyone else!”

“Not when you’re smoking, no,” Ethan tries his best to keep his voice calm. “Not to mention insulting our costumers.”

“Oh, you value that kind of costumers, do you?” The man’s voice is venomous, and he’s almost shouting. “Fucking tranny.”

Right. That’s it. Ethan tightens his grip on the man’s upper arm, hard enough to leave bruises, and lifts him out of his chair. “Out. Now.”

He pushes him through the silent, staring crowd, to the door, and practically throws him out on the street. The man stumbles, but, to Ethan’s regret, he manages to regain his balance and doesn’t fall flat on his face. 

"Don’t you think I’m ever coming back here!” he spits.

"Good,” Ethan says, crossing his arms. He’d really like to beat the jerk up a bit, but he doesn’t think Vanessa would be very happy with him. She’s worked hard for this coffeeshop, and a punch-throwing barista would probably not do wonders for her reputation, however noble the cause. 

The man glares at him one last time, then hurries away. Ethan turns around and walks back into the coffeeshop. Conversations have resumed, and only a few people throw him worried looks. One girl even gives him a thumbs-up. He smiles at her.

The girl is still standing at the same table, but her coughing fit seems to have died down. Still, that hadn’t sounded healthy, and Ethan wants to make sure she’s okay.

“Do you need medical assistance?” he asks her. “Should I, I don’t know, bring you to a hospital or something?”

“Nah, I’m fine,” she says. Her smile shows off her pretty white teeth. “CF, I’m used to it. I won’t die – well, not right now, at least.” Her smile turns sarcastic.

He’s thrown off for a second, and she laughs, throwing her head back in mirth. “Your face!”

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Well, let me at least bring you a drink, then, to apologize for the inconvenience?”

“Sure,” she says, and smiles again. She really does have a lovely smile. Ethan has a weakness for dimples.

He hurries to the counter and asks Vanessa for a tall caramel macchiato. She smirks at him meaningfully.

“I kno-ow!” he says, a bit defensively. It’s not his fault he gets crushes about as easily as Dorian finds people to fuck. Not everyone can have a fulfilling – though not-so-monogamous – relationship with their best friend since childhood and love of their life. Vanessa has Mina, Dorian has fuck-friends, Ethan has crushes. It’s how they work.

“Ten minutes,” Vanessa tells him, handing him the cup. “I don’t pay you to flirt with attractive costumers.”

“Thanks, Van, you’re a star!” He bends over the counter to drop a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’ll make it up to you.”

He hurries back to the girl – he still doesn’t know her name, he realizes – and places her macchiato on the table in front of her. “On the house.”

“Thank you,” she says, and the dimples make a reappearance. “So, do you make a habit of playing the hero for unknown damsels in distress, Mr. - ?”

“Ethan, I’m Ethan.”

“Brona,” she says, and holds out her hand. Ethan shakes it. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“So, the hero thing?” Brona asks.

“I don’t consider myself a hero, no. I’m just a barista.”

That’s a pity,” she says, smiling coyly, “I quite like heroes.”

Absurdly – or, well, maybe not so much – that Enrique Iglesias song drifts through Ethan’s head. I can be your hero babyyy… Ethan keeps the thought to himself – Brona doesn’t strike him as the type to appreciate excessively saccharine love songs.

Instead, he asks, “So, Brona, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a sex worker.” She says it without blinking. Ethan’s not entirely sure if she really is that confident about it, or if she’s trying to shock him. If it’s the latter, he’s not that easy to shock. If Dorian is to be believed – and Ethan is pretty sure he is – he’s been on both ends of remunerated sex multiple times, and that doesn’t make him any less worthy of respect, in Ethan’s eyes. Or any less very fucking attractive, for that matter. Goddamn him.

“No reaction?” Brona asks him. So she was trying to shock him.

“I don’t see why it should matter,” he says, a bit clumsily. “Do you like it?”

“Not any less than you like making people coffee all day, I’d bet.” she says. “It pays well, which comes in handy for the medical bills, and I’m damned good at it, if I say so myself.” She winks at him, and Ethan thanks the lord he doesn’t blush easily.

“That… that’s good.” he stammers, and Brona giggles. “Yeah, it is.”

“Your boss is making big gestures at you, by the way,” she adds. Ethan looks over his shoulder. Sure enough, Vanessa is waving him over.

“Fuck, got to go.” he says, and stands up. “Do you – do you think I can see you again?” he asks. “I really liked meeting you.”

“Sure. When do you get off this shift?” Brona asks.

Ethan glances at the clock above the counter. “In two hours.”

“Well, how about I come pick you up then? We can go to your place, get to know each other a bit better.” She winks again. “On the house.”

Ethan bursts out laughing. “I’d like that a lot. See you in two hours, then!”

“Bye, Ethan.” Brona waves her fingers at him, and Ethan really wants to kiss the dimples in her cheeks. Later, maybe, he tells himself, and walks back to the counter with a spring in his step.


End file.
